


Bruises

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Hurt Eggsy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to the Kingsman estate, they have a brief discussion about the marks on Eggsy's face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

Harry noticed first.

Eggsy knew he looked bad. Everything he had on was rumpled, and he stank of stale sweat and the kind of grime that quietly announced to people that he hadn’t changed clothes overnight and definitely did not spend the night in a proper bed. The dark circles and puffiness around his eyes highlighted his pale skin and exhaustion from sleepless nights. But he knew the worst of it were the bruises: one high on his left cheekbone and another nearly encircling his neck.

Harry didn’t say anything about them, and before he could, Eggsy started asking rapid-fire questions— _what’s being a spy like? How many other Kingsman agents are there? What’re the differences between tech and field and administration? Are there exploding pens?—_ and Harry had begun answering each one until it evolved into a series of discussions, coy remarks, and wild anecdotes.  

The whole time, Eggsy prayed Harry would forget about it, forget to start  _asking,_ but he felt the way Harry’s eyes were constantly drawn to his face and neck.

“Eggsy,” Harry began, after what seemed like a good hour, but Eggsy immediately turned around in his seat and crossed his arms, looking down at his beat-up trainers on the polished floor of the bullet train. He was reminded of when Harry had rattled off a bullet-point list of his record and subsequent flaws in the pub, and wasn’t willing to listen to something like that again.

“We ain’t talkin’ about this,” Eggsy said coolly.

To his surprise, Harry agreed, “We don’t have to.”

He looked as if he very much wanted to say something, but instead, reached down to a side compartment and rifled around, finally pulling out a tube. “Here,” he said simply. “It won’t work right away, but it should…minimize the damage.”

Eggsy took it, unscrewing the small, white cap and squeezing yellow-white paste on his fingers. He looked towards one of the windows, dabbing at what he could see. Coolness numbed the pain, and when he finished applying it, the bruises looked less noticeable.

“Thank you,” Eggsy said sincerely, handing it back.

Harry took it, looking at him with something not quite pity—concern, perhaps. Maybe empathy, if Eggsy wasn’t ninety-percent sure that Harry had never been struck like this a day in his life. Maybe Harry knew what it was like to be hit, but he most likely didn’t know what it was like to be hit and not being able to hit back and even if he _did_ hit back, that hit wouldn’t change anything. Since he was a spy, Harry likely had experience with concealing his true feelings in order to stay undercover, but _this_ was something that made Eggsy very aware of the differences between them.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” Eggsy said, when Harry kept staring. “It gets irritating after a while. You get me?”

Harry didn’t nod. Instead, he asked, “You’re twenty-three, yes?”

Warily, Eggsy answered, “Yeah. So?”

“When I was twenty-three, it was my third year as a Kingsman agent. I was the youngest in the agency and knew very little about the people I worked with. The only person I could call a friend was Merlin.” Harry paused, as Eggsy tried not to comment on how this conversation took a sudden turn into Harry Hart’s personal biography. “But on my twenty-third birthday, I got a rare day off. Oh, I was still on call in case of an emergency, but I could go home to celebrate. My parents were beside themselves when they saw me, and my older brother ruffled my hair and scolded me for being gone so often. They led me into the kitchen, and the table was crammed full of my favorite foods and a chocolate cake my mother had baked herself. Later, a few of my friends from school and some of my relatives who lived nearby came, and we had a party. We watched football on the telly and danced in the living room and drank too much, and I opened all of my presents and slept in until Merlin woke me up at nine because Arthur had a mission for me in Addis Ababa.” Harry now folded his hands and looked at him very solemnly. “I imagine your birthday was very different.”

Eggsy managed a nod.

“So, no, Eggsy, I don’t, as you said, _get you,_ but I want to help in any way I can. And I see that I’ve failed in that endeavor.” Harry paused again, and it seemed like the years after Lee’s death passed before his eyes. “Tomorrow morning, I’m to see a professor to clear up a…misunderstanding. After it’s done, I’d very much like to follow through with what I told your stepfather. If you want.”

Eggsy began to blurt out something like _I don’t want your favors,_ but stopped. He wanted to protest that he didn’t want to be pitied, that he didn’t want to be reminded about how he failed to take care of his family, that he didn’t ask for Harry to do something more than give him a chance to become a spy, of all things.

Harry was offering something he’d dreamed about for so long that it became just a too-often repeated fantasy that required a lot of _if_ s. With Dean gone, his mum and sister would be safe. They wouldn’t have to worry about him starting in on them when Eggsy was away or about going hungry because Dean decided to blow money on drugs or alcohol or something flashy.

Yet, without Eggsy, his mum needed to get a job to support her and Daisy, and where was she going to leave Daisy while at work? And what about Daisy’s diapers and schooling later on? Ryan and Jamal were willing to help out if the level of shit they were going through had died down, but it wasn’t a permanent solution, and he couldn’t ask them to do that. Not to mention that even though Dean might be gone, his mates wouldn’t be, unless the authorities were very efficient. Most likely, they’d just stop at Dean, and maybe his dogs would scatter without a leader. Or become even more vicious without one. They could do unspeakable things to his mum, to his sister, to anyone who helped them.

And Eggsy didn’t like to think about it, but his mum wasn’t _clean_. What Eggsy had squirreled away in his room, what little he could get without Dean or his mum noticing, wasn’t enough to pay for more than a few month’s rent, let alone a proper rehab center. He didn’t want to just leave her behind. He wanted to help. He’d thought about getting a flat away from the states for a long time, but not for the first time, Eggsy realized it wasn’t enough.

But it was tempting. So much of the times Eggsy had rubbed his dad’s medal in between his shaky fingers was because of Dean. He could be gone. All he had to do was say yes.

Eggsy opened his mouth to finally reply, but, suddenly, the train came to a halt, and Harry was muttering, “Shit, we’re late,” before leading him down a corridor that would lead him to something very different from anything he’d experienced in his life.

That evening, when Eggsy received his pajamas—the newest pieces of clothing he had in a while—Charlie had caught a glance of his bruises and laughed. “Whoever did _that_ ,” he said, sneering, “I’d like to congratulate them.”

While Roxy gave him her most scathing look, Eggsy swiveled his eyes down, and, on the _next of kin_ line on the little card, wrote DEAN ANTHONY BAKER in his neatest handwriting and placed it on the body bag.


End file.
